


Drifting

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's mind is drifting places he doesn't want it to go. Also, George is a fucker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic which originally appeared in the lj comm Beatlesslash.

He sprawls in the chair, head back, legs out, cigarette dangling from his lips. He’s so tired. So fucking tired. The room is silent except for the sound of the rain beating against the window, drumming on the roof. No English rain, this. No. This is loud, insistent, drumming into his skull. It keeps him awake. He’s growing to loathe it with a passion usually reserved for stupidity.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he could just let his mind drift, but every time it does it goes down a track he emphatically does not want to follow. 

He’s a married man. A father. He has responsibilities. Sure, he’s a bit of an adventurer. A bit of a lad. Likes to have a bit of fun. 

But thinking about sucking Paul’s dick is no way to get some rest.

He can pinpoint the exact moment it happened. The first thought. Not even a thought. Just a stray vision.

They were mucking about on a boat someone’d lent them, cruising around the harbour, playing at fishing. Paul was stretched out on the deck in his bathing suit, asleep in the sun. John was sitting on the deck by his feet and consequently had more of a view than he’d really wanted when Paul’s dreams seemed to turn a little…graphic. 

Now, he’d seen Paul naked before. Hell, he’d seen Paul with a hard-on before. Hamburg hadn’t left many mysteries to explore. So he didn’t know why this time, this particular hard-on on this particular day, had left him thinking the thoughts he was.

Thoughts that wouldn’t go away.

He wondered what Paul was doing right now. Maybe he couldn’t sleep either. Maybe he was being kept awake by the rain. Maybe he was thinking about sucking dick. Maybe all he needed was good old adventurous John to come by and suggest it.

Maybe if Paul was thinking about sucking dick he was thinking about sucking John’s dick. 

Or George’s. Probably George’s. 

Fucker.

He put out the cigarette, lit another one. He closed his eyes again and thought some more.

Maybe he should just go down the hall. What could it hurt, really? He could pretend he was drunk. Cop a feel. Put his tongue places it had never been before. See what the reaction was. Escape with some dignity (as much as possible when pretending drunken randyness) if Paul was completely repulsed by him.

Oh God. What if Paul was completely repulsed by him?

Bet he wouldn’t be repulsed by George. 

Fucker.

He listened to the rain. He hated the rain. He was so tired. So fucking tired. He crossed the room to the bed and tried again to go to sleep.

******************

Paul sat slumped in his chair, listening to the rain. He’d tried to sleep, wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes his brain went to that same place, that same thought, that had been tormenting him for days.

He had a girlfriend. Had had lots of girlfriends. Had a bit of a reputation for the number of girls he’d had. Took some pride in that.

So what in hell was he doing thinking about sucking dick?


End file.
